


The Wedding Gift.

by whiskygalore



Series: The Gift [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Public Sex, Sunday Morning Porn Club (Supernatural & Supernatural RPF), but Jensen isn’t complaining, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskygalore/pseuds/whiskygalore
Summary: Given as a gift to a barbarian king, Jensen has no idea what his fate is to be; entertainment, slavery, or sacrifice.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: The Gift [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161842
Comments: 35
Kudos: 406





	The Wedding Gift.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SMPC, so porn be here!

“You’re selling me into slavery,” Jensen rages.

His brother rolls his eyes. “Hardly selling, brother dearest. You are a gift. For a king.”

“A barbarian king. A king to people who do not live by the civilised rules we do. You said yourself that these people are savages. You don’t know what they might do to me.”

“And neither do I care, Jensen. What I care about is having the Padaleckis onside should the Morgans attack my borders again.”

Jensen sneers, appalled but unsurprised by his brother’s attitude. “And you’d rather hand me, your only brother, over to a horde of brutes than make peace with Jeffrey Dean.”

Indifference written across his face, David lazily examines his nails. “Yes, Jensen, I would.”

Jensen knows there’s no point in arguing with his brother. That doesn’t stop him. “Our father would be disgusted by you,” he says, words clipped. “You’re destroying everything he built. Offending every ally he ever had. You will ruin this country.”

David marches across the room, slapping Jensen so hard across the face he stumbles to his knees. “Don’t speak to me of that man. He was a weak fool and a coward.”

Jensen glares up at him. “Our father kept this country at peace and prosperous for forty years. It’s taken you less than three to bring us to the brink of a war we cannot win.”

David eyes him with fury, before smiling, mirthless and cruel. “It’s just as well father had two sons then, isn’t it? Because your pretty ass is going to save us all. The ship sails at midday, brother. You will be on it. Hogtied or not, the choice is yours.”

  
In the end Jensen makes the journey to the ship unbound. His brother riding by his side in the carriage with a smile on his face and his fingers curled tightly around the knife at his waist. 

His last words to Jensen before he pushes him out of the carriage makes Jensen’s heart and hopes sink even lower. “Don’t worry too much about a life of slavery, brother dearest. From what I hear of the barbarians’ traditions, I doubt the king will keep you alive that long.”

The only thing that forces Jensen to walk onto the small ship is his pride. And, of course, the threat of what David will do to his few faithful friends if he puts up a fight. 

The threat to his friends’ lives is also what keeps him from throwing himself overboard on the three days it takes to sail to his destiny. One long night, when he’s sick as much with nerves as he is with the rolling motion of the ship, it also takes his bodyguard Christian’s hand clamped on his arm and his steady voice in his ear. “You are stronger than this.”

“Am I?” Jensen asks, voice wavering along with his self-belief. “If I was strong I wouldn’t have allowed my brother to place me in this position in the first place.”

“You had no choice but to obey his command as king.”

“And now I will have no choice but to obey the commands of a new king. A king who is as likely to have me killed for entertainment as he is to have me kept for his amusement. Why should I not let the sea take me, Christian? Why should I not decide my own destiny now?”

“You may not be able to choose your own fate, but you can decide how you face it; whether you keep your chin lifted and pride intact, or if you let your brother’s cruelty turn you into a coward.”

Jensen stiffens. He shakes Christian’s hand from his arm. “I’m no coward.”

“No,” Christian agrees. “You are not. A coward would have fled to safety years ago rather than try and soften the damage his brother was reeking on his lands.”

“You begged me to leave when my father died,” Jensen reminds his old friend. 

Christian grimaces. “And I beg you now not to leave. Not like this. Walk off this ship with your head held high and show Padalecki you are not a gift to be wasted.”

They are wise words. But it still takes every strand of courage Jensen has to allow Christian to tug him back from the ship’s rails and escort him back to his quarters. 

By the time they reach land, Jensen has eaten nothing for three days and has barely slept a wink. He’s lightheaded and nauseous, and he knows, from the concerned expression on Christian’s face that he looks as pathetic as he feels.

Leaving the ship is a strange experience. It’s as though Jensen no longer inhabits his earthly body. As though he’s watching a stranger take his final steps. The ship’s crew stand silent as he leaves. Christian is the only one who accompanies him. He has sworn an oath to protect Jensen that no one, not even a king can break. The only thing that is capable of breaking their bond is death.

There’s a chance that may come before either man is much older. 

Crowds of people line the quayside to witness Jensen’s arrival. His submission. Jensen pays them no mind. He tries to keep his eyes lifted and his feet moving. Christian is at his shoulder, guarding his back, but not a single person makes any threatening move towards them. They simply stand and stare. Silently. 

Jensen finds the unearthly quiet more disconcerting than the jeers he had expected. 

Their path is clear. A large group of warriors await their arrival at the end of it. A giant of a man stands at the centre, head and shoulders above the rest of them. Jensen pinches his arm, forcing his mind to focus, to be here now. He cannot meet this king while his head is clouded.

Unconsciously, his steps slow as he draws nearer. Behind him Christian speaks quiet words of encouragement. “Keep going, sire. We are nearly there. Show him you are proud. Show him you are not afraid.”

Jensen tries. It’s difficult not to bow his head under the weight of King Padalecki’s scrutiny. Difficult too, not to let his eyes flicker over the king's majestic body. The man is naked from the waist up, wearing only skin-tight leather pants, rugged boots and with a simple golden crown half-hidden in amongst the wild waves of his dark hair. His skin is bronzed from the sun and shines as though it has been oiled. Jensen feels small and pallid in comparison. 

Close up, the king is even more impressive. And imposing. Jensen doesn’t doubt the man could wrestle a lion and win. Jensen wonders if he wears no shirt because none will fit the breadth of his shoulders, or the muscled flex of his arms. 

“I thought the Ackles were sending me a man, not a boy.” Padalecki laughs along with his men as Jensen approaches.

Jensen bristles. He has no idea of these peoples’ etiquette. In his kingdom you would be lucky to remain alive if you didn’t bow before the king on first meeting. But in his kingdom, the king would not be mocking the arrival of a foreign guest. Then again, Jensen reminds himself, he’s not exactly a guest. An offering is more accurate. 

Even though it pains him to do so, Jensen stoops to one knee and bows his head when he reaches Padalecki. “Your highness,” he says, trying his damndest to keep his voice level, but perhaps not quite succeeding. “Prince Jensen Ackles, son of the late King James, and brother of King David. I am here for your command and your pleasure.”

Padalecki laughs. Jensen counts to three before lifting his head and glaring at the man. 

“Such polite manners from such a pretty child.”

“I am nineteen years of age,” Jensen informs him. “I am four winters past childhood.”

Padalecki scoffs. “A sharp gust of wind would blow you from your shoes, pretty boy. Your brother promised me a wedding gift in exchange for my support. Not a scrawny underfed lad.”

A wedding gift. Jensen had heard no mention of a wedding. That confuses him greatly. He’s not sure how he qualifies as a wedding gift, unless he’s to be entertainment at the festivities. Having heard tales about these barbarians' odd customs and rituals, he wouldn’t be shocked to find that this was indeed his fate.

“My brother greatly values your support. I’m sure he thought his only brother, no matter how scrawny, an adequate gift.”

“I suspect your brother is not the wise man your father was,” Padalecki scoffs openly. Jensen wouldn’t argue even if he could. “Stand, boy!”

Jensen does so. The world titling around him just for a second as he levers himself upright. 

Padalecki walks a circle around Jensen, inspecting him as though he’s a heifer at market. “Hmm, taller than I first thought, but far too skinny for my taste. Nice ass though and those bowed legs… you look as though you’ve ridden a battalion of men.”

Padalecki grabs Jensen’s chin and forces his head up to meet his eyes. “Your brother promised me a virgin. Did he lie about that too?”

Jensen flushes so hard his ears burn. “I am a royal prince. It’s my duty to remain untouched until my wedding day. I have not so much as kissed another, never mind lain with a woman.”

“What about a man,” Padalecki smirks, releasing Jensen’s head and trailing his thumb across the curve of Jensen’s bottom lip. “Have you ever wrapped this obscene mouth of yours around a cock?”

Padalecki throws his head back and laughs at the scandalised expression on Jensen’s face. “No? That seems like a waste to me. Nineteen years old and a virgin. Your people are strange indeed. But, I’ll not complain. Not when I will be the one to benefit.”

Jensen wonders why the man needs another virgin when he is about to marry. His bride is surely pure. The women in this wild land must save themselves for marriage even if the men do not. Certainly a woman of high enough breeding to wed a king. 

The only thing Jensen can think a virgin would be required for is a sacrifice. His father banned the killing of all but animals as gifts to the Gods more than thirty years ago, but Jensen would not be shocked if the Padaleckis still chose to offer up virgins to appease whatever deities they worship. A sacrifice at a wedding, perhaps to their God of Fertility or Prosperity. It would make sense.

His knees tremble dangerously at the thought. It’s not what he had hoped for. But at least his humiliation and captivity will be over quickly. He wonders if his brother knew this was Jensen’s role to play when he agreed to the bargain. Even if he hadn't, Jensen knows without a doubt, his decision would have been no different. 

Padalecki nods to his warriors. “Escort him to the temple. The ceremony will go ahead as planned tonight. Tell the attendants to prepare him. But not too thoroughly. His virginity is to remain intact. And for God's sake, feed him. I don’t want the sickly child keeling over before the night has even begun.”

Jensen is led away before he can resist. Not that resisting would help his cause. Not when he’s surrounded by at least a dozen warriors. He hears Christian’s shouts as he’s prevented from following and can only hope his friend will be treated kindly.

He’s escorted into the depth of the temple, down torch-lit stairs, and into a luxurious bathing room that is filled with half a dozen women, all of them closer to naked than clothed. None of them talk to him, or even hold his gaze. Instead, they whisper between themselves and giggle at Jensen’s discomfort. 

They feed him first. Even though Jensen’s appetite has all but disappeared, they poke and prod at him until manages to at least eat some cheese and fruit. He pushes away the meat, unable to face the pink flesh. But he drinks the goblet of sweetened wine that’s pressed into his hands, hoping it may make what’s to come a little easier to bear.

They allow him to toilet before he’s stripped from his clothes by so many hands he’s left dizzy and unbalanced. The women then bully him into a bathing pool filled with steaming water. If he wasn’t sick with fear, the heat of the water would be a blessed luxury he’d relish. As it is, the steam simply makes his head swim. 

The women massage lavender-scented soaps across every inch of him, from his scalp down to the swell of his backside and his most private areas. They make him stand, ankle deep in the shallowest end of the pool and shave him all over, giggling at the furious flush of embarrassment that spreads down his face and over his chest. His skin is as smooth as a child’s by the time they finish with him. 

Once they rinse him clean, they tug him out of the water and dry his body gently with soft white cloths. All but two of the women then leave, chattering high and excited as they bustle from the chamber.

The room is calmer with just the three of them. The women who are left, more placid and motherly. Their wary smiles hold a certain kindness, even if they still don’t address him directly. They give him another cup of wine to drink before massaging sweet rose oil into every inch of his skin. Their touches across his genitals are as clinical as Jensen’s own physician back home. Lastly, they comb his short hair and give him a herb to chew on to freshen his breath and clean his teeth.

Once they are satisfied that he is as clean and fragrant as it’s possible for a person to be, they dress him in a pure white robe made of the finest silk that has ever touched Jensen’s skin. 

If Jensen is to meet his maker this night, then he is at least presentable. 

The last thing the women do is place a delicate crown of orange blossoms on his head, pat his cheeks rosy, and then open the door to the chamber. 

Jensen is grateful for the slight haze in his head that the spiced wine has given him. It helps keep him walking as he is led by a scowling warrior to his fate. Two others soldiers follow, armed with swords, as if Jensen would even try to escape this labyrinth of a temple. 

His breath catches in his throat when he’s led into the ceremonial chamber. The room is crowded with people. All staring at him as he walks bare-footed down the white rose-petal strewn aisle. 

Padalecki stands waiting, along with several men, who Jensen presumes are priests, dressed in richly decorated ceremonial robes. That they are all standing before a solid stone sacrificial altar does not escape Jensen’s notice.

He whispers words of prayer and forgiveness under his breath as the guard leading him peels away and leaves Jensen to take the final few steps on his own.

Again, Padalecki is half-naked, his chest gleaming gold in the candle light. He’s wearing silk pants this time, a dark red colour, tied with a knotted belt around his hips, and he’s as barefooted as Jensen. Padalecki looks him over appraisingly before nodding once in apparent approval. Jensen’s not sure if he should be happy to have gained his approval or not.

He stands, unsure of the ritual, or ceremony, as the priests begin to chant. The language is foreign to Jensen, not the ancient language his own priests speak or any language he has encountered before. At times Padalecki chants along with them, at other times he seems to answer in response.

At one point, Padalecki clamps his hand on Jensen’s shoulder and pushes down. Jensen immediately falls to his knees which earns him another look of approval. The priest passes Padalecki a golden goblet which the king presses to Jensen’s lips. Jensen sips. The wine is bitter on his tongue, laced with herbs. Jensen wonders sourly if he has been poisoned. It’s not the way he wants to go, certainly not a hero’s death. The ceremony goes on without pause though, and Jensen is not wracked with pains so he presumes some other fate awaits him. 

Jensen stays on his knees, his head bowed and hands trembling at his sides, until Padalecki cups his elbow and all but lifts him to his feet, turning him so they are facing each other. Jensen swallows heavily when he looks up into the man’s face. Close up like this, Jensen is almost hypnotised by the king’s cat-like eyes, the colours in them seeming to change from hazel to green to bronze with the flickers of the candles surrounding them. 

For the first time Jensen hears his name being mentioned, and then as one every voice in the temple is chanting. It’s as beautiful as it is chilling. Jensen’s skin prickles, his heart pounds. 

A priest passes Padalecki a dagger. Jensen has never seen a prettier blade, bone handled and with an elegant silver blade that flashes in the candlelight. 

His time, it seems, has come. He tries to be brave, hold himself with pride, but he cannot hide the tremors that wrack his body. The way his shoulders shudder. Padalecki points the blade at his throat, and cuts. Straight down. Slices his robe clean in half so it falls from his body leaving him entirely naked. 

Jensen has no time to fret about being displayed naked in front of Padalecki and his people before the king has raised the blade again. This time he presses it against Jensen’s chest, above his heart. Padalecki is looking straight into his eyes, and Jensen’s legs are very much in danger of giving way. He silently prays he doesn’t humiliate himself by fainting. Thankfully, Padalecki doesn’t dally. Jensen feels the blade take blood, closes his eyes and prays for a speedy death.

A second later he opens his eyes again. And looks down at his chest. There is a delicate cut across his skin, the finest of lines, barely weeping blood. He looks up, just in time to see Padalecki takes the dagger to his own hand, slicing across his palm with far less care than he cut Jensen’s chest. Jensen sways, almost stumbling when Padalecki slaps his bleeding palm against the cut on Jensen’s chest, mixing their blood. 

And then his bloodied palm is on Jensen’s face, holding him steady and then… and then… Jensen’s breath is stolen from him. Padalecki’s mouth presses down against his and he’s being kissed. For the first time. The sound of chanting, the sting of pain, the flush of humiliation, it all fades away under the touch of Padalecki’s lips. 

For such a giant of a man he has feather-soft lips, and kisses with a gentleness that Jensen would never have expected. A gentleness that ends when Jensen finds himself responding in a way that is quite unplanned: he kisses back. Not softly, not carefully, but hungrily, wanting to feel more. The king moans against Jensen’s mouth and immediately drops all pretence of tenderness. He deepens the kiss, his lips rough and greedy against Jensen’s, his tongue stealing into Jensen’s mouth and demanding attention.

When he eventually draws back, both men stare at each other, chests heaving. The king’s eyes are wide. He looks as stunned as Jensen feels. 

“You sure you’re a virgin, my pretty boy?” Padalecki asks, brushing a thumb against his own swollen lips. 

“I swear,” Jensen returns, his voice barely a breath.

The temple falls silent. The chanting ending abruptly. 

Padalecki hands the dagger to one of the priests, who takes it and places it at one end of the altar along with a glass bottle. All the priests then back away to the side, leaving just Jensen and the king standing before the great stone altar.

“This tradition is sacred,” Padalecki says to Jensen, taking his hands in his. “The sacrifice required by the gods and by my people. Your body, your blood, your soul is mine. And I will treasure it always.”

If there is a proper response to the king’s words, Jensen does not know it.

He puts up no fight when Padalecki lifts him up as though he weighs nothing at all and lays him out on his back on the altar. He lies perfectly still, as though already dead, while Padalecki reaches down, picks up his discarded robe, and folds it carefully before placing it underneath Jensen’s head. 

Padalecki climbs onto the table, nudging Jensen's legs apart so he can kneel in between his thighs. Jensen knows his time has come. A tear falls unbidden from his eye and rolls down his cheek. 

“Do not cry, little one,” Padalecki says kindly, wiping the wetness away with his thumb. “I will do my best to make this pleasurable for both of us.”

And then Padalecki kisses his forehead. And his nose. And then one cheek and then the other. He lays kisses across Jensen’s whole face, his neck, his chest and down his trembling belly. 

“You are perfect,” Padalecki murmurs into his skin. “Fair and soft and as beautiful as the most delicate rose.”

He even peppers kisses across the bursts of freckles staining Jensen’s skin. “And blessed by the Sun Gods too. You are a rare treasure.”

Jensen gasps as the king scrapes his teeth across one of Jensen’s nipples, the bite of pain turning into pleasure as soon as he takes it into his mouth and sucks. Shamefully, Jensen can feel his manhood hardening in response. Even more so when the king attacks his other nipple with equal fervor.

“So responsive for me. I am a lucky man.”

Jensen never thought he could feel pleasure in this position, laid out as an offering to the Gods. But the king’s mouth on his skin is like sin and absolution in one. Makes him feel things he has never felt. Takes his spirit higher than he thought possible. Padalecki slowly works his way down Jensen’s body, kissing and biting, until he’s holding Jensen’s thighs open, mouthing at Jensen’s balls, licking his cock. 

“Sire, please… your highness,” Jensen finds himself begging.

“Jared,” the king stops to say, laying a kiss against the jut of Jensen’s hip bone. “If you are going to scream my name, call me Jared.”

And then Jensen nearly jackknifes upright when Padalecki, Jared, sinks back down, shoves his hands under Jensen’s bottom and licks at his hole. 

It’s wrong, and disgusting, and no one should ever touch such an intimate part of another in such a lurid manner, but Gods, when Jared’s tongue spears Jensen’s hole he sobs in pleasure. His cock jumping between his legs. 

“You enjoy that,” Jared says, grinning up at him. “Good. I think I will spend much time eating this juicy ass.” And then he ducks his head and devours Jensen’s hole until Jensen is indeed screaming his name for all to hear.

“You are ready,” the king decrees, when he finally kneels up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He takes the glass bottle and tips the contents into his hand and onto Jensen’s skin. It’s oil, warm and sweet smelling. Jared leans forward, brushes his lips against Jensen’s one more time and then slips his slicked finger inside Jensen’s hole. 

Expecting pain, Jensen tenses. But, although at first it feels a little strange, soon it only feels good. The breath he was holding escapes in a moan. Jared takes that as a sign and slides in another finger alongside. The stretch burns for a moment before falling away entirely to pleasure. It doesn’t take long before the king has three fingers buried inside of him. Jensen pushing down like a common whore trying to take them deeper as sparks dance behind his eyelids. 

“Gods, you are a wonder,” the king groans, sucking a bruise against the inside of Jensen’s thigh. “I’m sorry, but I can’t wait a second longer.”

He slides his oil-slicked fingers out of Jensen’s ass and unties the belt of his pants, taking out his straining cock. Jensen is inexperienced and sheltered, but even he knows that the king’s manhood is abnormally large. More like a bull’s than a man’s. It’s thick and heavily veined, purple-headed, and fat at the bottom. Jensen should feel fear at the thought of that monster breaching him, fucking into him like he is a bitch, ripe and in heat. Instead, his body betrays him, his own cock leaking against his belly.

The king slicks himself up with the last of the oil before hiking Jensen’s legs up and around his waist. 

“Relax, little one,” he says, gentling a hand down Jensen’s ribs. Without waiting for Jensen to comply, he shoves his cock inside Jensen’s bottom, slow and steady but unrelenting. Jensen snaps his teeth together, holding a scream inside of himself. His body feels like it’s being split in two. 

“Shh,” the king commands, bending down and mouthing at Jensen’s taut throat. “Shh, relax, sweet one. It will get better quickly, if you just relax for me.”

It takes long burning minutes, but the king’s words are not a lie. Eventually the fierce pain recedes leaving Jensen panting for breath and staring at the point of their bodies where they are joined together as one. Jared’s cock buried deep inside Jensen. So deep, Jensen would swear he can see the bulge of it in his belly.

And then the king starts to move and all Jensen sees is stars. 

He never imagined sex to be like this. To be this consuming. This wondrous. Every time Jared moves, sparks flare somewhere deep within Jensen, shocks that run under his skin setting his pulse on fire and his senses alight. His cock grows heavy between his legs, his balls full and aching with his seed. Sweat drips from Jared’s brow onto Jensen’s skin. The king’s eyes bore into Jensen’s as though he can see down into Jensen’s very soul. 

Jared’s thrusts grow more frantic, his balls slapping against Jensen’s ass loud enough for the whole temple to hear. It feels as though he’s burying himself deeper and deeper inside of Jensen, that his dick is growing even thicker, even harder, and then, with a yell that shocks Jensen so much he spills his own seed, the king slams inside of Jensen one last time. 

Jensen can’t think for a moment, can’t do anything but ride the wave of pure pleasure that overcomes him. But then it hits him. This… this is not normal. The king… the king is tied inside of him. Like a… like a dog knotting a bitch. 

The barbarian has a knot on his dick. Jensen’s ass clenches around the hard flesh. It takes another moment for him to regain his senses as his dick spurts pathetically against his belly for a second time. The king may have the dick of an animal but Jensen can’t hide how shamefully his body is responding to it. He’s worse than a bitch in heat. Surely this isn’t normal.

He can feel the king’s cock pulsing inside of him. He can even see his belly swelling with the man’s come. 

“Our people are not like yours,” Jared says to him, his eyes dark as he watches Jensen stare at where they are joined. 

“I can see that,” Jensen manages to say, wriggling his ass and gasping at the thrill that runs through his body when the knot rubs against his insides. 

“And you do not seem to mind,” Jared notes with a smirk, his fingers trailing through the smears of come on Jensen’s skin. He slips his fingers into Jensen’s mouth, circling his hips and grinding against Jensen as Jensen sucks his own come from Jared’s fingers.

“I wonder if your brother knows what a gift he has bestowed upon me?” Jared says, reaching behind him and curling his fingers around the handle of the dagger. Jensen immediately goes rigid, his body clamping down around the king’s dick making them both groan loudly. Jensen wonders how twisted he is that he’s so close to coming again even though he’s about to be sliced open like a sacrificial lamb. 

“Gods, Jensen, so perfect,” Jared says, taking hold of his hand and placing the dagger in it. For a second, Jensen thinks that Jared expects him to cut his own throat, sacrifice himself, but then Jared’s fingers are wrapped around his and he’s making Jensen slice through his skin. Through the king’s skin. Above his heart, in the same place he cut Jensen earlier. And then he makes Jensen cut his own palm, and then the dagger is thrown to the ground and Jared is holding Jensen’s bleeding hand against his chest and the temple comes alive with the sound of cheering.

Jared moves Jensen’s hand to his mouth and licks the blood clean. And then he’s kissing Jensen, the tang of copper sharp in Jensen’s mouth and he’s coming again as Jared holds him in his arms and rocks their bodies together. 

“We are one,” he says, when he drags his mouth away from Jensen’s. “It is done my pretty little bride.”

Jensen stares up at him. “Bride? We are married?”

“Of course we are married,” Jared says, looking at him curiously. “That is why you are here, is it not? To bond our two clans together.”

“I thought I was to be a sacrifice,” Jensen says, slightly dazed. “A blood sacrifice.”

“Why would you think...” Jared trails off when he looks at the blood smeared across them both. “My sweetest Jensen, you are the bravest child. You thought I was going to sacrifice you and yet you climbed onto this altar without a fight. Gave yourself over to me with such enthusiasm.”

“I’m not a child,” Jensen points out stubbornly. Nor is he brave. Stupid, perhaps, embarrassed, definitely.

Jared laughs which sends shivers running through Jensen as his knot rubs deliciously against his insides. “Your brother is a fool. A reckless idiot. He gave you away so easily, and he has no idea what a treasure you are.”

“He hates me,” Jensen admits. “He wanted rid of me because I disagreed with his petty wars.”

“Then we will make him pay,” Jared says easily, his dimples deep as he grins wickedly. “But first, we will take our coupling to my chamber and continue our wedding night in private. I have much to teach you about the way of my people.”

Jensen whines and wraps his legs tight around Jared’s waist when the king stands and lifts him up from the altar. The king’s dick is still knot-deep inside of him and every movement makes his ability to think a little trickier, and his cock a lot harder. 

“I think I will enjoy our lessons,” he mouths against his husband’s neck as he’s carried through the temple to the sounds of cheering. 

  
  


_Finis_.

Thank you for reading!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
